One of the more interesting series of Penguin (God Bless Them!) paperbacks was the Great Trials series.
One of the most popular was the trial of Oscar and I think that an original edition of the ‘cheap’ paperback version will now set you back a tidy amount. Not only is it scarce, but it is a damn good read.
Never let it be said that I did not do my best to provide literature with the raw material for an epic. It may not sound like it but keep your eye on DP 1609/2008 - it has real possibilities!
One of the most popular was the trial of Oscar and I think that an original edition of the ‘cheap’ paperback version will now set you back a tidy amount. Not only is it scarce, but it is a damn good read.
Never let it be said that I did not do my best to provide literature with the raw material for an epic. It may not sound like it but keep your eye on DP 1609/2008 - it has real possibilities!
My visit to Vilanova to the Jitjats to continue my persecution of The School That Sacked Me was altogether satisfactory and frustrating at the same time.
The place was full of what I could only describe as the dregs of humanity, clinking with body jewellery, garish with tattoos and all looking as though they had just had a fortifying drink of something strong – if you will allow the unnecessary repetition. The professionals (lawyers rather than layabouts, but there again . . .) reminded me of nothing more than the definitively dismissive paintings, drawings and etchings of Daumier and looked like the living embodiment of Chaucer’s dismissal of the Man of Lawe as “looking busier than he was!”
The entrance to the Jitjats was crowded and everyone had to pass through a metal detector. As usual the amount of ‘equipment’ I had reduced the security lady to loquaciousness. I was carrying the bare minimum for the modern man: a mobile phone; a Canon powershot camera; a Sony e-book; a wallet; keys; a watch; more keys; money; a pen and a few pills. It’s a good thing that I didn’t have my bag with me!
The omniscient security guard from yesterday saw me and pointed out that I had been there yesterday with the air of one who has solved Fermat’s last problem in three lines. After puffing out his cheeks to make himself more important he pointed me in the direction of the information desk which just hapened to be directly behind him and labelled with the word information.
The information girl's lack of English and my hysterical use of Spanish soon directed me to the third floor via the lifts.
The lifts were blocked by a drooling halfwit and a man who was obviously a lawyer because he failed to make eye contact with anyone and kept moving his gleaming leather briefcase so that it caught the light.
The third floor proved to be a counter in a small office with doors stage left and stage right. Up stage was an open office with an exclusive cast of young ladies who were gradually disappearing behind growing mountains of files.
I was noticed almost immediately by a lady on the other side of the counter who asked me what I wanted and when she saw the small slip of paper attached to my documents by the information person downstairs she motioned me to the other end of the counter, or to put it another way, approximately one foot to the right of her elbow. An invisible line of responsibility must have crossed the otherwise unmarked surface of the counter because the lady then felt free to resume her seat and continue building the paper defences.
I then became invisible. I think it was something to do with ‘glass ceilings’ or ‘Chinese walls’ or whatever else industry thinks of to give another euphemism to the word ‘dishonest’. I was, however, no neophyte in dealing with Catalan bureaucracy which was why I had brought my e-book with me. I therefore started reading; standing up and leaning on the counter.
The third floor proved to be a counter in a small office with doors stage left and stage right. Up stage was an open office with an exclusive cast of young ladies who were gradually disappearing behind growing mountains of files.
I was noticed almost immediately by a lady on the other side of the counter who asked me what I wanted and when she saw the small slip of paper attached to my documents by the information person downstairs she motioned me to the other end of the counter, or to put it another way, approximately one foot to the right of her elbow. An invisible line of responsibility must have crossed the otherwise unmarked surface of the counter because the lady then felt free to resume her seat and continue building the paper defences.
I then became invisible. I think it was something to do with ‘glass ceilings’ or ‘Chinese walls’ or whatever else industry thinks of to give another euphemism to the word ‘dishonest’. I was, however, no neophyte in dealing with Catalan bureaucracy which was why I had brought my e-book with me. I therefore started reading; standing up and leaning on the counter.
If there is one thing that office workers hate it is an outsider out-ceiling or out-walling them. In no time at all, with a pretty impressive attempt at surprise one of the ladies who had been ignoring me suddenly noticed that I might have needed some attention.
She spoke no English so I continued ploughing my bloody way leaving mangled syntax and eviscerated grammar behind me. And she understood!
In a couple of minutes she had found the file relating to my accusation! She brought it to the desk and asked me what I wanted. I asked what progress had been made and thus, I inadvertently returned to her comfort zone.
Nothing. Of course, naturally, 'nothing' had been done. Would I like to know when something might happene? My address was taken. A wry smile greeted my tentative request for an approximation for the sort of time scale we might be looking at. Christmas was mentioned, but not very convincingly, so that area of time which stretches to infinity called, “after Christmas” was what I had to be satisfied with.
But I have the case number (DP 1609/2008 in case the snappy label had slipped your mind) and a case number (or indeed any number) means that it exists.
A good day’s work, I should say.
I was able to spend some time in Sitges to justify the expense of travelling through the tunnels and arrived just before lunch. I had decided to use my MNAC card to get free admission to one of the museums there so I could look at some Rusiñol paintings that I remember having seen on a school trip.
First, I thought, a cup of coffee.
The only place that looked as though it was opening in the bay near the museums was a sushi bar and, as the waiter didn’t look in the least oriental I thought that he would probably not mind serving a coffee without the meal attached. He did agree, though he tried to get me to have a meal too – without success. My motto, “No Menu Del Dia No Meal” which almost looks Latinate in that form was a sure and certain way to preserve rapidly depleting funds!
While I was sipping my coffee and reading my e-book at the tables set outside the restaurant and near the sea, a strange couple arrived and sat at the next table. He was Indian; she was Chinese; they did not communicate. The Indian spoke Spanish but his companion was monoglot Chinese.
She spoke no English so I continued ploughing my bloody way leaving mangled syntax and eviscerated grammar behind me. And she understood!
In a couple of minutes she had found the file relating to my accusation! She brought it to the desk and asked me what I wanted. I asked what progress had been made and thus, I inadvertently returned to her comfort zone.
Nothing. Of course, naturally, 'nothing' had been done. Would I like to know when something might happene? My address was taken. A wry smile greeted my tentative request for an approximation for the sort of time scale we might be looking at. Christmas was mentioned, but not very convincingly, so that area of time which stretches to infinity called, “after Christmas” was what I had to be satisfied with.
But I have the case number (DP 1609/2008 in case the snappy label had slipped your mind) and a case number (or indeed any number) means that it exists.
A good day’s work, I should say.
I was able to spend some time in Sitges to justify the expense of travelling through the tunnels and arrived just before lunch. I had decided to use my MNAC card to get free admission to one of the museums there so I could look at some Rusiñol paintings that I remember having seen on a school trip.
First, I thought, a cup of coffee.
The only place that looked as though it was opening in the bay near the museums was a sushi bar and, as the waiter didn’t look in the least oriental I thought that he would probably not mind serving a coffee without the meal attached. He did agree, though he tried to get me to have a meal too – without success. My motto, “No Menu Del Dia No Meal” which almost looks Latinate in that form was a sure and certain way to preserve rapidly depleting funds!
While I was sipping my coffee and reading my e-book at the tables set outside the restaurant and near the sea, a strange couple arrived and sat at the next table. He was Indian; she was Chinese; they did not communicate. The Indian spoke Spanish but his companion was monoglot Chinese.
Their ordering of drinks was better than a West End comedy. The man ordered coffee but she waved a finger at all their suggestions in a variety of languages and applied herself to her dictionaries, both paper and electronic. They appeared to be of no help whatsoever so the waiter began mouthing coffee and then shivering and then flapping the collar of his shirt to indicate cold and hot. This raised a tight little smile from the lady and the waving of an admonitory finger at the waiter.
Eventually a Chinese man was found in the depths of the restaurant and a very animated conversation was started which eventually had the Indian raising both hands and denying something. The imagination raced to find a suitably salacious explanation.
Then both left the table so that when the waiter returned with coffee and hot milk (ah!) he looked around in astonishment to discover his customers. At least I was able to help out and point to their near proximity, even if they weren’t actually in their seats.
By the time the Strange Couple had regained their seats the waiter was engaged in an argument with a fellow worker on the “when I’m ready to go somewhere you aren’t” sort and I felt it was probably a good time to go.
There are probably not that many museums in the world that will allow you unsupervised access to iconic masterpieces by the acknowledged leader
Then both left the table so that when the waiter returned with coffee and hot milk (ah!) he looked around in astonishment to discover his customers. At least I was able to help out and point to their near proximity, even if they weren’t actually in their seats.
By the time the Strange Couple had regained their seats the waiter was engaged in an argument with a fellow worker on the “when I’m ready to go somewhere you aren’t” sort and I felt it was probably a good time to go.
There are probably not that many museums in the world that will allow you unsupervised access to iconic masterpieces by the acknowledged leader
of the Escuela Luminista (Luminous School) of Sitges and a couple of El Grecos thrown in as well;
but I was.I’m sure (am I?) that I was being watched on CCTV but it was pleasant to look at fascinating art works alone and unhindered as if one was at home.
It made the following lunch in a very much cheaper Chinese restaurant (menu del dia) a positive pleasure.
A day of contrasts!
It made the following lunch in a very much cheaper Chinese restaurant (menu del dia) a positive pleasure.
A day of contrasts!
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